Draco Renascentis
by penumbra owl
Summary: Draco Malfoy died in a world ripped apart by a madness even the Dark Lord was unprepared for. A madness that refused to leave even in death. Now, in a new world where he is the only source of magic and where the very land thrums with a foreign power, he must fight to remain alive. Because not all of Draco made it, and some that did would better have been left behind. HP AU.
1. Death Context

Chapter 1: Death Context

_"And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

.o.O.o.

Death is peaceful, I thought.

I couldn't really move much, and I had the most uncomfortable feeling that I had forgotten something important, but other than that, it was peaceful. I was peaceful. (_help me, someone oh god anyone save me before-)_

It was certainly something someone like I had never considered for my forever-after. It wasn't that I had expected to end up in some fiery pit of hell or before the shining gates of heaven – after all, those were Muggle ideologies, not Wizard ones – but considering the crimes I had committed in my lifetime (_against law, against nature, I'm so sorry please forgive me but it felt so good-_), I certainly hadn't anticipated this lulling tranquility, this fragile serenity, this trembling, delicatebreakableohnoohno_it'sgoingtocrumbleIknowit – _

But anyways, peaceful. So peaceful. And if I didn't want to think about the future (_and especially not about the past, not that, anything but-_) well, it wasn't like there was anyone forcing me too. No mother, no father, no sister nor brother (though of the latter I had never had any before anyways). No, I was free to be chained in compliance by a feeling I had never fully experienced when I was ali – before.

Before. What was before? Even though I didn't really want to think about it, I felt I should. Even just a glimpse. Perhaps then I would know where I was (besides dead – I was pretty sure of that. After all, no one could survive-).

Think.

Slowly a shape convalesced out of the gloom, like a murky sea creature rising from the depths. It seemed menacing somehow, ripped and jagged around the edges as if dragging a mass of seaweed behind it. I felt scared, but more than that, I felt as if I should recognize it.

What was it?

I knew I couldn't really 'see' anything. Everything around me was no doubt the delusions of my mind, struggling to interpret whatever reality death existed in. Perhaps to the properly enlightened or to the dutifully depraved (was I depraved? Maybe when I was alive…) it would be different. A soft white. Or a swamp of grinning acid. Empty spires of rock in a wasteland devoid of all life but the whistle of the wind. Something besides my own abyss-like surroundings, empty of all but the slowly approaching monster from below.

As It neared, one of the trailing ribbons of (seaweed, smoke, cloth so shredded it screamed in protest?) twitched. Then, the true size of It was released from the dark – a behemoth so expansive I could not discern the ends.

So engrossed was I in trying to fit a shape to the aberration now mere lengths from me, I failed to notice the shivering strand that had twitched just moments before slip through the fluid I was drifting in and gently begin winding itself around my torso.

And then it crushed me.

I screamed. I must have screamed. With no voice and no air and probably with no throat nor lungs, I screamed. It was as if someone had laid me out, stripped and bound to some cold hard surface, and shoved their hands businesslike into my chest and ripped open my ribcage – I felt exposed. Violated not in a physical sense so much as a spiritual one.

My soul, I understood suddenly. It was crushing my soul.

I could suddenly see the outline of what now must pass for my body – a harshly glowing tangle of lines and contours that as I watched was breaking apart and dissolving. These shards of light were promptly sucked away by the tentacle that squeezed me still. A heavy darkness closed around my vision and – strangely enough – a dull warmth began to build in me, as if I had been cold before.

Far, far below me, below even the leviathan that had swallowed my world and me in it, a sudden frenzy of lighting sparks leapt about in the ink. Snapping and sizzling and leaving a purple and green afterimage after every move, the sparks moved like neurons in a brain. Even past the pain of having my soul shattered, I noticed the sparks.

I especially noticed when they started attacking the binding I was ensnared in. Mostly because they also began ripping at me in the process, as if hating me but knowing I was all they had left to them in this hell.

Even more of my shape became nebulous, like a jellyfish whose watery body had been nipped at and torn by both predator and environment. Even as the strand reluctantly withdrew, I felt myself fading, bits and pieces of me still spinning off into the dark, falling, falling, falling… just like my mother, just like my father and just like _them_.

To spell and metal and potion and claw. To enemy and ally and predator and prey. To me. (_I didn't kill them all, just a few, just a few here and there, just enough to stop feeling so __**hollow**__, so __**empty**__, so __**alive**__-_).

As I drifted further from coherence and deeper into consciousness (from sanity to reality, because reality was insanity) the sharp pinches of the lightening spheres _(they taste minty that's important keep that in mind_) burrowing into my flesh(?) served to slow the disintegration of my soul, but not my memories. Already locked but safely stored, my memories were now becoming unlocked but fragmented and disordered.

Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

I chuckled weakly, remembering my arrogant greeting to a small, green-eyed soon-to-be-classmate all those years ago. How long ago was it? Thirteen, fourteen years ago? I had been so self-assured, so righteous in my name and in my feeble-minded beliefs. Feeble-minded not because they were wrong – purebloods were the superior of the wizardly race, and far superior to the magicless – but because I had not tasted the blood that came with forming those opinions. Had not fought the battles that gave conviction and resolution to an ideology that demanded experience to wield it with understanding.

I did now. I learned just after fifth year, when everything changed. When the Golden Trio had broken into the Ministry of Magic and when the world had finally understood that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back. My Lord Voldemort.

May he burn in hell.

(_Or is he there already, screaming like I was just moments ago, screaming like I am still?)_

After fifth year, when the Minister was assassinated just weeks after His return. When the Dementors turned against both the Light and the Dark, and became the Darker. When the ghosts abruptly secluded themselves in Haunts and Councils to debate their role in the war, and subsequently devolved into their own civil war. When secrets and sects and guilds and clans and organizations that had been lost to the mainstream Wizard World had flared out of the woodwork and started laying claims to territories and races and rights and religions.

When the whole world began to burn in madness and seethe in chaos.

When even the recently resurrected Dark Lord was caught off guard by the rapid shifts in the world, suddenly finding himself just one more faction in a sea of Lords and Ladies and High Sorcerers and Fire Maesters and _Lytlings_ and Umeerlee Priests and Tree Thanes. Fighting suddenly not just the Light but any who would carve out a piece of the British Isles that now had so many names in so many tongues.

The world was burning, and the Dark Lord with it.

But he was vicious, and clever, and ambitious. And all too eager to indulge in a war of madness. The Light was swamped, but not completely. They somehow managed to eke out an army and a base by allying themselves to splinter groups and those whose goals roughly coincided with theirs. And if they had to compromise, if they had to look the other way to gain the loyalty of one of these factions – well, it was all for the greater good, in the end.

Right?

And so branches of magic and races of magic and levels of magic unexplored, unknown, forgotten, banned, created, invented, hybridized and mangled together were let loose upon a world that was ripe for death. New names were made and old ones perished. And only the lucky the brutal the inspirational and the efficient survived.

And the Muggles, strangely enough.

Somehow, it was mutually understood and agreed upon that should any group bring attention of the magical world to a large population of Muggles, said group would be instantly shunned and targeted. It wasn't in compassion, but most were intelligent enough to realize that involving them would perhaps tip that balance from wide-spread killing to planet-size destruction.

After all, even wizards couldn't survive the fall-out of a nuclear winter (The arcane Tengu made sure all understood that). Not that what they were doing was much better.

And so a bitterly quiet shadow war raged across all the continents.

(_The behemoth drifted away, swallowed in the abyss. Or was I drifting away?_)

At first, the Dark Lord held his own. He assimilated allies through seductive promises and creative torture, and easily gained a foothold in the British Isles – his primary target. While France fell under the sway of the Thanes and Russia to the Nighwalkers, while Germany was swallowed by the obscure Grey and Spain painted over in blood and rune by the ritualistic Fire Dancers, while all the world was tugged and torn to pieces, the Dark Lord marshaled his forces in Britain. Key ley lines and sources of Sap – natural wells of power – were seized and fortified. So-called Light wizards were slaughtered by the family and artifacts of Light taken and locked deep underground, or dismantled to feed the Saps.

(_A fuzziness took root. A kind of white noise. Could the dead die?_)

After fifth year, everything changed.

Hogwarts at first tried to resist the inevitability of true war, but after Dumbledore was ambushed and taken hostage to be tortured and drained of the power that housed itself in him, everything changed. The Golden Trio – the Savior, the sidekick, and the bookworm – managed to once again do the impossible. That, or Fate was a buyable bitch – at the right price, of course.

Perhaps I am being too hard on the deity of destiny. After all, it must be strenuous to manage a planet that seems determined to drown itself in gasoline, juggling flaming matches with little regard.

(_The whatever-was-around-me was changing. A sharp, acrid scent and the sensation of being dragged through a field of wheat replaced the numbness of before. A field of wheat. A wheat of field. A field under a big red bloody moon eyeball dripping dripping pocket full of posieswe__**all**__fall__**down**_)

-managed to do the impossible. (hadn't I already though that?) They freed Dumbledore, a Dumbledore hardened, changed, blah blah blah. Suffice to say he was now a true threat to the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord's string of victories slowed, ground to a stop, and began going the other way. But as twisted as he was in his madness, he was still a prodigy, even half a century after his original rise to prominence. And so he plotted new ways to victory.

And that is where I came in.

(_Don't think about it nothing happened I went home we left no wait my family left I just became a foot soldier nothing more nothing important nothing special just a foot I went home and we left my family don't think about it don't think __**it's what you were trained to do after all**__-_)

I was a nobody. Sure, son of a lieutenant general in a Dark Lord's army. Well-bred bloodline. Incredibly wealthy. Above average grades (in all the subjects that mattered, of course). Talented in subjects not taught at Hogwarts. A few special pureblood skills that such a heritage granted. Polite, self-assured, confident, logical, maybe a little cold to those outside my inner circle, but altogether an unremarkably remarkable wizard.

(**Wh**Y Di**D** i**T** h**a**Ve **t**O G**o** **s**O **WRONG**.)

My name is Draco Malfoy, and I have a problem with purebloods. I hate Purebloods. Thank you and good night.

Bloodlines. That was the brilliant new idea my dear Master (_never again_) hit upon. A master stroke, by all accounts. After all, not only would it be a huge political win, but a militaristic one as well. Show them all that purebloods were the best for a solid reason (besides the obvious). A little known fact (Lost? Forgotten? Deliberately buried in shame and fear?) was brought to light (_**h**__aH__**a**_) by an 'acquired' Unspeakable. (_what's happening unfocused tired why haven't I been sleeping not moving for such a long time timeless so sleepy tired. Tired._)

Simple.

Every bloodline in a pureblood had at least one unique magical trait. Un-replicable.

Elegant.

Simply isolate whatever strain or strains (_not a gift, never a gift, nothing like solstice day_) slept in the blood. Then wake it/them up.

Deadly.

Elegantly integrate the taints into the magical core and synchronize the matrix so the subject didn't blow up. Or dissolve. Or be turned inside out. (_so much blood that last one_).

The resulting thing (_not human not now were they ever with THAT inside them?_) was then utilized. To fight, to champion, to lead, to menace, to quietly go insane from something that slept for a REASON. After all, a gift could not be given if the owner had no life to give it. And this was a gift that wanted to be passed on – a happily dormant parasite. No life. No body. No blood. No soul.

No soul. Soul. Soul…

(_Bright and shiny, like a knute. Corded like gillyweed gone sour. Smells so minty. Tastes so minty. Tastes so-)_

Why do I know what souls taste like?

. .nonononNO_NO__**NO**_!

He took me. Away. Apart. He took me apart. And then he put me back together.

I wasn't one of those he paraded around.

It wasn't that I was a failure – far from it. I was a success. Those in the know complimented and clapped and smiled and praised. Lord Voldemort, of course. I was kept safe. Safe kept. Stowed, like an adolescent dragon that must be contained because I did not know my own strength. Or maybe because I did. Because even success as wondrous as I was flawed. It came with the territory. After all, I was one of the first, and certain bugs still cropped up now and then. Nothing that would hamper my ultimate purpose, but just enough to cause those around me to avert their eyes or – if they were of the more easily ensnared type – stare. As if I was a fascinating new potion that glittered, or an alchemy practical gone sickeningly awry.

(_I really don't want to remember. Please stop._)

No blood. Elegant. No blood. Like a Kiss.

Like a Kiss from a Dementor.

Except I wasn't a Dementor.

Not a human – not anymore.

Not quite a wizard either.

Hell, not even alive.

As I drifted further and further into the writhing ink around me, the minty sparks now gone – maybe inside of me? – and the sea nightmare sucked away to wherever it had come from, I sighed. Maybe. (So hard to tell).

It was done. Over. Whatever had happened was out of my reach now. My place was in death. Relaxing, I allowed my eyes to slip shut, so even the glow of my soul was blocked out. Which is why I missed it when a different, subtler light began to filter my abyss. And grow and grow until with a rippling, ripping _crack_, I was dropped to the hard, grassy ground beneath me.

And with a startled gasp, took my first breath since I had died.

* * *

Reviews welcomed.


	2. Magic Mirror

Thank you to all who reviewed! And in case any were confused by the first chapter – you should be. It was a bit of a reflection of the inner psyche on Draco's part. I won't reveal everything, but suffice it to know that he has not had the most pleasant life. So no 'light' or 'dark' Draco. Just a realistic one, considering the circumstances.

And because I was just that smart of a fanfiction-er, I forgot to include a disclaimer in my last chapter. So to make-up for that, I give you this one and only disclaimer for the rest of my story, you lucky _lytlings._

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Naruto. The authors/manga writers J.K. Rowlings and Masashi Kishimoto respectively own them. Not me. Original concepts are original.

Chapter 2: Magic Mirror

"_Don't forget that I cannot see myself, that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

.o.O.o.

_It was done. Over. Whatever had happened was out of my reach now. My place was in death. Relaxing, I allowed my eyes to slip shut, so even the glow of my soul was blocked out. Which is why I missed it when a different, subtler light began to filter my abyss. And grow and grow until with a rippling, ripping crack, I was dropped to the hard, grassy ground beneath me._

_And with a startled choke, took my first breath since I had died._

.o.O.o.

At first I lay there, unable to make sense of color and sensation when I had previously drowned in numbness and absence. A bloody red painted itself on the back on my eyelids and the sandpaper texture of dirt and flora rubbed against my back. A yawning tiredness still tugged at my body and more than anything I just wanted to drift away, back into those velvety shadows that had smothered my mind and dampened the painful memories that threatened to seep into my consciousness and spilt open my sanity.

Because I knew that the moment I truly opened my eyes and accepted my existence in wherever I had landed, I would be unable to go back. If, on the other hand, I stayed still, and quiet, and unmoving, I was sure – in some dark corner of my knowledge – that I would slip away, never to be reawakened. It was entirely my choice.

I opened my eyes.

And was instantly assaulted with pain.

I let out a silent gasp as my mind snapped to attention and began running a magical diagnosis over my body – a routine so ingrained in me that I hardly noticed. Letting internal instincts assess my physical condition, I instead focused on my surroundings. I started with a lightning-quick sweep over as much of the environment as I could discern. Then, before I could even begin to process what I had seen, I allowed my vision to flick around in abrupt, spastic motions, picking out all the movement my first, broad survey had detected. After determining that the gentle swaying of various leaves and the darting flight of a several startled birds were no threat, I relaxed minutely. Then, focusing my gaze more sedately – yet still on high alert – I started to piece together where I had ended up.

I appeared to have been deposited in a small clearing at the edge of a strangely large forest. Below me, my sensitive hearing picked up the throaty gurgle of a decent-sized stream. And far, far above me, the sun was heavily listing to one side; either it was mid-morning or late afternoon. Considering the fairly warm breeze that was playing over my skin, I was willing to bet on mid-morning, and factoring in the vibrantly green buds that were dotting the trees across the clearing and above my head, I guessed that it was sometime in early spring. So, a pleasant spring morning.

_What the hell?_

Before I could puzzle more on the fact that I appeared to have wound up in some oversized glade, my magical diagnosis let out a subtle hum, signaling its completion and my lack of any immediately fatal wounds. And that was another thing. Usually, that would have only taken a scant few seconds, and that was if I had been running low on energy. This had taken at least half a minute. It was as if something had slowed my magic's progress through my body (of which I was now certain I had one). Even thought my magic had been severely restricted and mangled from-

Well. From things. Anyways, it had never reacted so sluggishly. Maybe it was my (near-death? death? rebirth?) experience that had caused it to struggle. Speaking of struggle…

As I attempted to sit up, large swaths of cloth kept winding about my legs and limbs, making it difficult for me to achieve standing status. But where did all this fabric come from? I was sure I had not died – left – no, _died_ – dressed in a giant's clothing. Peering more closely, I recognized my cloak. It was one of the few possessions I had had left in the end, and one of the few gifts that I had managed to hang onto during my last few brutal months in Britain. Dark charcoal in color, its ends were worn and ragged from my time spent huddling in caves and ghosting through forests. Though soft, it was study and had several practical charms woven into its weave. Spells to ward off the cold and rain, and to hide me from hostile eyes, among others. The state of its disrepair attested to its harsh and near-constant use, and to the kind of condition I had endured alongside it. Absently petting it, my eyes locked onto the brooch pinned at throat-height, still gleaming as if She had given it to me the day before, Her eyes rimmed in red but cold as Azkaban. Only the slight trembling in Her fingers as she had pressed it into my lifeless hands had betrayed any remnant of maternal feelings.

Narcissa would have been envious had she known how close someone not of my blood had viewed me.

(_it wasn't just the Light that wanted to kill me then oh no the Light may have hated and feared me for what I did to them earlier but it was also the Dark the Dark and the Lord and all the little death eaters who would munch munch munch tasted so good when I ripped out their-_)

I gripped my head briefly, waiting for the dizziness to pass. What had I just been thinking? It was too painful to hold onto for long. Was I just getting sick?

(_can't get sick no nope never sick not regular sick at least some nasty poisons those Fire Dancers got turn you black and blue and bloated but you got your own poison so nope not sick even with poisons not when you eat the stuff you do potent magic is and more than that is-_)

Sinking back onto my heels, I pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes, as if to rub away the static images and voices that slithered up from some concealed place in my mind. Slowly, the heavy pain melted away, and I was able to open my eyes again.

And look straight into the yellow eyes of a snake.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then, keeping perfectly still, I said, ₰_Hello_.₰

Well, maybe not said. Hissed perhaps is the better word in this situation.

The snake didn't move, still scrutinizing my appearance (something that I desperately wished to do myself). After all, maybe it was different now, maybe it was gone and I wouldn't have to hide anymore, maybe I could just exist in anonymity and peace and no one would ever want to kill me again just because I was different just because I wasn't –

_₰What are you? You are not human.₰_ The snake hissed back, warily.

And the festering spark of hope deep inside, all that I had left against me and reality, died.

It would not come back.

I could tell my eyes (nothing changed, they must be the same) went flat, reptilian. My spine lengthened and my breathing calmed from its barely noticeable rise. No hope, I thought. Good. Nothing to get in my way. Nothing to drag me down. I should have realized it anyways the moment I could understand and speak parseltongue. If that had stayed the same, then all the other changes must have survived as well.

(_come now they weren't all bad that bad some you even dare I say it liked some you even loved and some you even couldn't live without not after that first taste not after __**her**__-_)

Pushing aside my sudden headache, I rose to my feet and – ignoring the increasingly curious snake for now – strode to the creek I had identified earlier. Or, tried to stride. Instead, my clothing once again betrayed me and almost sent me stumbling to the ground. Hissing in frustration, I forced myself to slither out of what was now an obviously overlarge ensemble. Growing more uneasy, but concealing it under a mask of coldness, I finally flung my last oversized sock away from me before finishing my journey – sans all but my precious cloak that dragged behind me – to the bank of the , I flicked my hand and summoned a sheet of water to turn into a mirror. My eyes widened when a tugging tiredness washed over me, pressing me to the ground. Alarmed and panting slightly, I raised my head to view the aftermath, only to be confronted with a drooping lattice of water that had only managed to transfigure partway into a mirror. The end result was a conglomeration of imperfect reflections – useless.

(_perfect for what **you** want to see_)

Rigid, I allowed the watery failure to splash to the ground. Even as I gazed at the few flawed pieces of mirror I had managed to produce, they melted back into water and seeped into the ground. Even the faint residue of magic – my magic – that clung to the mess swiftly unraveled and was lost to my surroundings.

_That_ caught my attention.

Examining the ground more closely, it suddenly dawned on me what I had just witnessed. It had been _my_ magic in the mix of water and mirror. _Just_ my magic.

Not any of the magic that _should_ have been present.

That is to say, there was no ambient magic powering my spellwork. Usually, when a witch or wizard casts a spell that affects some distant object – or even one pretty damn close – they will subconsciously draw upon the ambient magic that is present in all places. This neutral magic, or Natural Magic, is neither Light nor Dark, and was actually one of the reasons for the purebloods hate of Muggles. Muggles, in their pollution and cities, actually drove out Natural Magic. Not a lot, and not completely, but enough to seriously impact the Weave – or the layer of magic that encompassed the planet. The Weave was composed of major threads called Ley Lines that crisscrossed everywhere; the Ley Lines in turn drew their power from the Saps – or wells of magic that thrived in highly magical places. Or more accurately, the Saps were the cause for highly magical regions. Hogwarts was just one of such places. In fact, all the magical schools had been built on powerful Saps. This potent source of power was one of the primary reasons the Dark Lord had been so adamant on obtaining the highly defensible school of witchcraft and wizardry for himself, besides the political and psychological aspects.

(_he threw so much against that school so much even me and I was special not so good against a castle in fact weak why did he send me didn't die but hurt hurt so bad first break just a crack but cracks widen he should have known was it a suicide mission?_)

I shook my head impatiently. That wasn't the point. The point was that Natural Magic existed everywhere, and that all witches and wizards could and did use it to fuel their own spellwork. In fact, most of a wizard's spellwork was powered by Natural Magic. Hell, virtually all rituals were a direct result of manipulating the flow of Natural Magic, with only the barest of an individual's power used to charge the intricate rules that acted as barriers and guidelines. Bluntly put, only a fraction of the magic-user's own power was used to shape and guide the magic around them.

What did this mean?

(_maybe it's you maybe you are the problem always blaming everyone else after all you were the one who volunteered you were the one who o' so foolish accepted the risks it was for your new Master after all for your father and for your mother did you even believe in what you were willing to fight for did you even understand that smile – His – and that fear – Hers – when you __**volunteered**__ like a __SHEEP__ for the __**s**__lA__**ug**__hT__**e**__r__**?**_)

No! I didn't volunteer! I didn't want that-

What was I thinking, again?

Oh yes. So apparently I was in a world with no magic. No magic except for whatever I could produce from my own core.

(_a core that was damaged don't you remember it was stripped like a bone of meat and cracked open and picked apart and he found something don't you remember he found something and it was S__**le**__E__**p**__i__**Ng**__ and he WOKE it __**UP**__ and now it won't die and it won't die and it won't die because it's inside you and it's __**you**_)

I abruptly swung away from the damp patch on the ground and leaned over the creek. I had to see my reflection, even though more and more of my senses were trickling in; senses only my altered (_rearranged_) self had possessed. Ignoring the snake that continued to watch my every move in utter fascination, I peered into the watery depths. And my eyes widened.

(You're fucked up, Draco Malfoy. Then and now.)

Slit-pupil eyes stared back, the inner black bleeding into the surrounding granite grey. As I watched, the sun's reflections off of the water caused them to widen and narrow. Hypnotized, I couldn't help but think that they were bloody brilliant for any measure of intimidation. Bloodless, alabaster Malfoy skin set off the pale-gold of my hair as it fell to just below my shoulders. Hmm. That might be a problem. It needed to be longer. Mentally shaking my head, I refocused on the parts of my appearance I had been vainly avoiding.

(_can't avoid this it's a mirror no one's here to see who cares lookie lookie it's a freak even the others avoid you not a lot different not enough to never be seen but just enough to be seen just like you couldn't avoid death idiot why didn't you avoid it avoid it avoid avoid avoid. Idiot._)

Roughly pushing my hair to the side, I bared the back of my neck to the world. Which pretty much consisted of the now frozen snake at my side. Intermingled with the hair at the base of my skull, vibrantly green, gold, blue and red feathers ruffled in the wind and rippled as if alive. Slightly trembling, I reached a finger to softly run it over the sensitive plumage. Shivering at the sensation, I let my hand drop along with my hair. They were longer than before – at least long enough to poke out past my hairline and expose my abnormality. Even worse, there were more, enough to push past the delicate golden curtain of my normality and display their garnish colors.

But the absolute worst? They were only a symptom.

(_like sores on a body like brands on cattle only a symbol of the inside its inside you how could you don't feel so bad at least sometimes you were mistaken for normal of course not after you smiled or looked at them or didn't have your cloak or talked or shook their hands-_)

No one would shake my hands after that.

What?

Too late, Draco, I thought. Too late not to look. Too late not to notice the fanged smile and the clawed hands and feet. Too late not to gaze, enraptured and mystified as if it wasn't part of me, at the long, serpentine tail that snaked around my too short legs (wait, what?) and the plume of vibrant feathers that garnished the last foot and half. Jungle green and desert red, Aztec gold and Pacific blue. The tail – my tail – twitched catlike under my scrutiny. Emerald green, Avada Kedavra green – Savior green – it whispered over the ground, mimicking the shape of a dragon's but leaner and longer in definition.

So pretty, I thought. Like a toy for a curious kitten to play with. Catch the pretty feathers, little kitty. Catch the pretty feathers, and whatever you do, don't touch the wicked, curved, mean little spikes hidden in the pretty feathers because if you do, well, then. Goodnight, curious little kitty, and I shall not see you in the morning.

(_Told you you had your own poison._)

I knew that if I were to see my back, I would be able to trace the acid green scales of my tail up from where it merged with my spine all the way to the base of my skull – right where the feathers evolved. The reptilian armor would be thicker all along its sinuous passage, more useful in turning aside both magic and metal from my vulnerable spine.

That wasn't the only interesting thing about my back, I knew.

(_he paid special attention there so much space so much room to write on to carve on to sear with blood and magic and fire and metal so much space to scrawl his name to chain his servant - no slave - no at least slaves had others to talk to to commiserate to emphasize - no his __**pet**_)

I don't want to think about it.

(_My soul…_)

I just have to be careful, that's all.

(_He chained my soul._)

No. Why do I feel so cold?

(_To ink and rune and flesh; it was so pretty, so shiny, when I saw it for the first time. Luminous. Undimmed._)

The snake pinned me with its eyes. So accusing, as if it knew everything.

(_I wondered why he wanted me to practice so hard. It was only one spell, and a Light one at that. No reason for perfection, except that it was Him._)

Of course, light and dark were often challenged in matters of terminology during that war.

(_And so I did. I worked until it was done – until it was corporal. At first, I thought I understood his motives. After all, something so powerful and light-oriented, something so beautiful, would be needed against the encroaching presence of the Grey that had begun to cross the Channel._)

The Light hadn't done much to push them back, knowing that the territory the Grey was slowly invading was in the domain of Lord Voldemort. Forcing him and his army to take the brunt of the attack or else be pushed back into dangerous Light controlled territory.

(_I was actually excited – excited! – when I presented my finished accomplishment to Him. Ready to take on the threat of the chilling Grey (perhaps unwilling to face actual witches and wizards, perhaps unwilling to-_))

-face off against people I might have known or gone to school with. People who would scream and look at me with human eyes as they died, as opposed to the silent shadows that-

(_-succumbed without a sound, shadows simply dubbed the Grey in deference to their shrouded origins and purpose. But that wasn't the reason he had me do it. It had to do with my bloodline, my-_)

-own special class of magic. My own unique brand of crazy. I didn't understand it when after I had volunteered, after I had submitted myself to his vision and his fascination with pureblood bloodlines, all he would have me do was-

(_-cast the Patronus Charm, over and over again until finally it was corporal, finally it was mastered._)

H**oW** cO**U**l**d** tH**Ey** N**o**T **nO**tI**C**e.

(_Summoning my patronus – [it means __**protector**__, how could they not __**notice**__?] – was different for me. For any Malfoy who took the time to master the admittedly tricky spell [tricky because it required force of emotion]. It required a little more effort, a little more oomph. Put your soul into it, the Muggles would say. Haha._)

I put my soul into it.

(_**I**__ p__**U**__T __**m**__Y S__**Ou**__l __**In**__T__**o**__ i__**T**__._)

And then the Dark Lord took it.

(_**He took my soul**_)

Malfoys were always cold. Souless, some would say. It wasn't true. Not until me, at least. In fact, it could be said we had the closest connection with our souls, the tightest of binds. Hell, we didn't know that. Not until Him.

(Lost. Forgotten. Buried in shame. Hidden in terror. Who wants to touch a soul? Five sickles, I have five sickles – no, ten sickles, I have ten sickles. Blimey! The price of a soul these days. Blimey.)

Who wants to touch a soul?

I was screaming now, on the ground. My cloak was knotted around me as if it could keep away the memories, as if it could block out the neurons that _flick flick flick_ fired around me forcing me forcing me to remember and the walls were crumbling and the bridge was falling falling, the London bridge is falling down, falling _down, falling down, my sweet lady-_

I was drowning. I had to stop. I had to stop this train-wreck of a memory trip. Before it was too late. Before I become just an empty husk, a burned out vessel of flesh and blood and bone with no mind to go along with no soul.

What little magic I had built up since my awakening from death was rapidly being drained, whipping the wind into a frenzy and stirring the waters of the stream below my head in a display of accidental, emotion-fueled magic, as if I was still a child. Desperate, frantic to end what I suspected was a rapid descent into insanity, I did the only thing I could think of and gathered myself up just enough to fling my body forward.

And with a splash, into the stream.

The shock of the chilly waters worked, and with a sudden gasp, I regained my bearings and tenuous sanity, working to reassemble the failing shreds of my mind. I was distracted when I was suddenly assaulted with the feeling that something was out of place. Focusing, I examined the creek flowing past me. It was shallow – maybe only a foot where I had landed; but sprawled in it as I was, I was suddenly overcome by the apprehensive feeling that it was deceptively deep against my slight frame.

Blank-faced, I rose, the water cascading off of the cloak still wound around me. My too-big cloak that had fit perfectly when I had been alive. Still expressionless, I directed my gaze once more to the mirror-like surface of the stream, this time carefully examining my subtly changed features. Critically, I narrowed my slit-pupil eyes and waited for the ripples to abate; my features slowly swam into view. The first thing I noticed was that I had rounder eyes, and a not quite as pointed jawline. In fact, all the hard, planar angles of my face seemed smoother, as if a sculptor had magically sanded them down. The result wasn't by any means chubby or even all that soft, but it lacked the finely knife-edged structure my previous face had grown into. However, the hollow cheeks and gaunt, haunted look, framed under wide, high cheekbones and coldly burning eyes remained – a testament to the dilemma I had been grappling with before my demise had made it a moot point (but now? was it still a problem? And if it was, what should I do? What _could_ I do?).

(_Where was I?_)

Because this wasn't my old (altered) body. And it wasn't my previous age, either.

No. Somehow, someway, I was once again a child.

₰_What are you doing? Sssilly not-human. Don't you know? Ssstreamsss are cold this time of year.₰_

Looking up, I was once again caught in the venom-yellow eyes of the snake. She (with a little focus, I could now detect it was a she) was clearly fascinated, and just as clearly impatient. When I didn't respond immediately, she seemed to shrug.

₰_Ssstupid human, probably not even a Ssspeaker. My missstake.₰ _And with that, she reared back, and with whip-like speed and accuracy lashed out, fastening dripping fangs into my arm.

* * *

I've pretty much scrapped easily a dozen details/plot-lines I swore I'd incorporate. Honestly, this story is writing itself.

Don't worry, I do have some solid ideas I'll use, and I'm pretty sure of several key details of Draco's fucked-up back-story aka why's-he-such-a-nutcase.

Likes? Dislikes? Comments scathing or otherwise?

Reviews welcomed.


	3. Hunger Pangs

Thank you to all who provided feedback! And don't be surprised at how convoluted this story will become. And now a personal note:

Ok folks, first and foremost this story is a personal experiment, meant to be an exercise in finding my 'style', 'type', etc. of writing. That's not to say that I won't put time and effort into making this story as awesome as possible – just know that I would like to write more stories in the future and that before I can attempt anything prodigious (although his story is actually turning out pretty complicated as is) I need a foundation that can only be found in experience and practice-practice-practice.

So essentially – be kind to the poor, neophyte author, and take pity on my scribblings of fantasy and fun that I humbly offer to you my readers.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Hunger Pangs

"_What is food to one, is to others bitter poison." – Roman philosopher Lucretius_

.o.O.o.

_No. Somehow, someway, I was once again a child._

₰_What are you doing? Sssilly not-human. Don't you know? Ssstreamsss are cold this time of year._₰

_Looking up, I was once again caught in the venom-yellow eyes of the snake. She (with a little focus, I could now detect it was a she) was clearly fascinated, and just as clearly impatient. When I didn't respond immediately, she seemed to shrug._

₰_Ssstupid human, probably not even a Ssspeaker. My missstake.__And with that, she reared back, and with whip-like speed and accuracy lashed out, fastening dripping fangs into my arm._

.o.O.o.

For a long moment, I just stared down at the clearly venomous snake latched onto my forearm, feeling the warm tingle of poison as it was forced into my bloodstream. Even when she released me and quickly backed off, watching with unblinking eyes for me to fall down dead, I continued to gaze blankly down.

Then, raising my head and fixing the snake a few feet from me with an unimpressed stare, I asked, ₰_Was that really necessary?_₰

With a startled jerk, the object of my attention seemed momentarily stunned at my apparent lack of dying and/or convulsions. That, or the fact that I had just spoken to it again in parseltongue.

I wasn't worried about the venom. I had experienced worse. Hell, I _had_ worse.

Casually flicking away the remaining water on my cloak, I climbed onto the bank of the stream and – pointedly ignoring the slight effort it took in my new, shorter body – made my way to drier ground, ready to thoroughly assess the reality I had somehow found myself stranded in and to figure out a plan. After all, this could just be a pleasant little corner of some hell that welcomed its occupants with false delusions only to cruelly rip them away.

I really had no way of knowing.

As I reached where I had discarded my voluminous clothes earlier, I tracked out of the corner of my eye the rust colored serpent that continued to trail behind me. While she wasn't any kind of poisonous threat – seeing as how I was still alive and breathing even after being subjected to what had felt like an awful lot of venom, no matter how 'weak' – I was still cautious about any hidden abilities she might possess. After all, she might be magical – able to spew fire or crush boulders or some other such rubbish. Certainty nothing I wanted to be unprepared for.

Reaching my clothes and pondering on their future, I continued to peripherally categorize what was currently my biggest potential threat.

While her rusty, red-brown shading – in all honesty a rather drab color that mimicked dried blood – didn't exactly scream killer snake, along with her rather short length of three feet, I was a little wary of her unusually intelligent canary yellow eyes. Yellow in the way that canaries were when they were sent down into mines to die from lethal, invisible gases.

Deciding to just ignore her for now, I bent down and poked at one of my too-large socks glumly.

I knew a normal person would most likely be at least semi-hysterical by now, or at the very least upset at being turned into a child. But for me, it was … distant. Almost as if I hadn't really accepted what had happened to me yet. Or rather, I had just chocked it up to another in a long series of really-fucked-up-things-that-have-happened-to-me. I mean seriously, what kind of person does this shit happen to? The eternally damned? Did I burn an orphanage full of kids in another life? (Of which I now seriously considered – the other lives bit, not the burning of orphans, of course).

Straightening, I absently glanced around the clearing to see if any of my wands had made it through. Not that they had been much of a help after my little change in humanity.

Not after the degradation of that which made me a wizard.

(_I couldn't even cast a simple _incendio_ immediately following the Binding. It hurt so fucking much. Was I even a wizard?_)

Narrowing slate grey eyes, I concentrated on locating my core. It was difficult – that same resistance that had hampered my earlier magical diagnosis right after I had first arrived was still present. Eventually though, after some futile grasping and experiencing an increasing panic that mimicked a Dementor's chilling touch, I stumbled upon it – an invisible and dimensionally removed tangle of shimmering power with no current definable color, its metaphysical center pulsing slightly like a heartbeat.

Sighing softly in relief, I delved further; dismayed but not unduly surprised, I discovered that where before jungle-thick vines of magic had composed my matrix, now a thin lattice of power as delicate as frost arched through my vessel.

And just like before, the new structure was riddled with the alterations of my Binding, seeming to splice pathways of energy that weren't really pathways but nonetheless needed a word to describe what was impossible to define. And just like before, whenever I had gazed too deeply into these aberrations, a horrible sense of vertigo seized hold of my mind.

'I suppose it could have been worse,' I thought as I fled the depths of my power.

At the age I now found myself – which I estimated to be around nine or ten – my corresponding magical matrix should be only just solidifying and gaining a definite structure and a reliable output of power. These were an individual's most vulnerable years – especially in terms of magical children. There was a reason wizards and witches didn't receive their wands or force any type of external magic before the age of eleven – to do so could fuck up the magical ability of a kid for the rest of his or her life. Even purebloods – ever eager to give their children the advantage – never dared to cross what was in essence a taboo of the highest magnitude.

While thankfully it didn't appear that my core had destabilized or devolved to the point of a child's, it _was_ much weaker. It was almost like an adult's, minus the taint, miniaturized and stuffed into my equally miniaturized body.

I had to be careful. Who knew what my impossible circumstances would give rise to. A ticking time bomb? Or maybe a slow, magical poisoning that would end with me a husk of mere flesh and blood?

There was no telling how it would change as time passed.

Nevertheless, my probing had revealed that I still had enough magic to attempt a few, controlled spells, and while a wand would have been helpful in making sure I didn't waste as much magic in performing the spell, I had long passed the point where it was essential for any uncomplicated measure of charmcasting. I simply had to focus my mind and make sure I didn't drain out too fast, or I would risk falling unconscious and suffering from magical strain or exhaustion. Not fun.

And I still wasn't sure that the snake wasn't a threat.

'Ok then,' I thought. 'First things first.'

Smoothly pivoting on one foot – and startling the ember-hued snake who looked to be in deep thought (about eating me?) – I swiftly cast a silent _stupefy_. Once again, a faint resistance picked at my magic as soon as it left the confines of my core, shredding it the further it got and almost dissipating it to the point of uselessness before it could reach its intended target. Luckily, it still touched, and with an invisible flash of power, knocked her unconscious.

₰_Sorry, Little Flame. I just can't risk it for now,_₰ I hissed to the wind.

Turning away from the now blissfully unaware bundle of scales – and feeling the slightest bit guilty at turning on one of the few creatures that seemed to accept me no matter what – I returned my attention to my clothes. With a few passes of my hand and some concentration, I was soon slipping back into my now sized-to-match garments, a decent portion of my stored magic temporarily depleted. Thankfully, I could detect a refreshing trickle of energy busily filling in the void, proof that I could still produce magic in my core.

The socks and shoes I ignored. It felt too good to feel clean earth under my feet, and besides, I had gotten used to being barefoot whenever I could. Razor sharp toenails didn't exactly play nicely with closed-toed foot ware.

"Strange," I muttered. While shrinking my clothes, I had once again encountered the resistance. Defiantly not a fluke then, and I didn't really think it had to do with my own messed-up magic for once. No, something in this world was causing a strange reaction in any of my attempts to send my power even the slightest outside of my body.

Experimenting, I coaxed a thread of energy to my open palm and set it to whipping up an inch high tornado. Almost immediately, scraps of power were shorn off and sent branching away into the air, leaving visible glittery trails like slug tracks before dissipating. However, some still remained in a now weakened whirlwind; oddly enough, the magic there almost appeared to have been…

Caught.

Or rather, it had latched onto something, some network in the air that allowed it to function properly as long as it stayed in the 'groove'. Still, pieces were snatched at and flung away even in this groove, further whittling down my small display of magic.

Frowning slightly, I lowered my subconscious barriers to the world around me and allowed my senses to fully interact with my surroundings. While dangerous to use in hostile situations as it split my concentration, I was fairly confident I was – temporarily – safe.

I tensed when I almost instantly became aware of being encased in something that felt like the fluffiest, most insubstantial down, or, or –

Mycelium. Mushroom roots.

Exceedingly delicate yet terrifyingly invasive, mycelium was a common if tricky to use potions ingredient – useful for lightening a heavy concoction or for balancing out the finicky properties of Jobberknoll feathers and Re'em blood.

(_Great for potions that ensnare the mind. Excellent for those that entangle the magic._)

Shivering, I crushed the remains of my tornado and watched as the suddenly bereft magical strands slithered away on the now identified Mycelium system. Web. Thing.

Whatever.

In retrospect, it actually wasn't all that surprising to discover. After all, _something_ needed to carry whatever force or power existed in this now conclusively foreign world. If there wasn't such a network, the natural patterns of life would be hard pressed to survive as vibrantly as they were displayed around me.

Still, it wasn't the Weave that I was familiar with, and so there was no telling what unexpected properties it might imbue my magic with. So far, all it seemed to do was disrupt the flow, but it just as easily might rip me in two if I were to fiddle with it wrong.

"Ah, fuck it," I muttered. I had survived death once apparently. What was luck if you couldn't push it? And I still wasn't sure if it had been the best decision to give up that numbing peace, so even if I did mess up…

Shaking my head, I absently glanced down at Little Flame and made up my mind.

With a silent _finite incantatem_, Little Flame stirred to life. Spotting me, she let loose a slew of snake gibberish that I was disinclined to study too closely.

₰_-pale, sssnakey little piece of hisss, can't even avoid a ssstream, probably clumsssy as hisss- _₰

₰_Excuse me,_₰ I interrupted calmly when it sounded like she had started to repeat herself.

Yellow eyes snapped to mine, and it looked as if she would continue, but a slight hesitation at whatever she had seen in my eyes seemed to stop her forked tongue just enough for me to ask, ₰_Could you tell me where I am?_₰

Little Flame regarded me for another moment before settling herself in a dry rustle of scales. I blinked when I thought I heard a hissed mutter of 'funny accent'.

₰_The Mountain,_₰ she replied at last.

Nodding slightly – relieved at last to have even the crudest of knowledge on my location – I questioned her further.

₰_Where, exactly, is this mountain located?_₰

Sharp eyes questioned my sanity for a second before a slightly exasperate hiss left her. ₰_Here. And that is the Little Stream and this is Small Mammal Clearing,_₰ she indicated with a worldly air and a tilt of her small, triangular head.

Disbelieving, slate eyes bored into the snake just in front of me. Nervously shifting a bit, she seemed to pick up on my dissatisfaction but didn't volunteer anything further.

Either she had never left this mountain, or – as I now suspected – she was a child herself, recently hatched and just now truly exploring the world.

'I would just need to phrase it differently,' I thought. After all, human establishments to her were probably like snake dens and badger burrows to the average human – avoided and generally forgotten when out of sight.

I calmed my twitching fingers and restrained the urge to simply force the knowledge out of her the fastest way I knew how.

(_Break a body or break a mind. Fast, faster, fastest. How fast could either run afterwards?_)

I couldn't – no, I _wouldn't_ devolve to what I had become before. Not to a snake. And especially not in a world that hadn't learned to hate me yet for all the death I carried with me. Maybe it was foolish idealism or the naïve hope of the damned and broken, but before I could accept the monster (is it sleeping? Dead? Patiently waiting for the inevitability of its return?) inside of me once again, I had to try and see if any soft, intact pieces of humanity were left to salvage.

(_What would someone like you do with humanity? You were never that person even before -_ )

₰_Are there any human nests or dens nearby? Any human paths or trails that they travel along?_₰ I prodded gently.

Drawing herself up in a disgusted heap of coils, she gave the impression of a dismissive sniff before answering, ₰_Yesss. But I wouldn't go there. Sssmellsss dirty. Filled with rotting decay and human pissss. Nasssty place, and besssides – the humansss there don't like sssnakes. And they don't like the Mountain either,_₰ she added.

Raising an eyebrow, I asked, ₰_Why not?_₰

She shrugged. ₰_Can't sssay. The humansss who I have seen come here are alwaysss twitchy. And they alwayssss flinch at the ssslightest noisssesss._₰ She seemed amused by the idea. ₰_I once followed a pair back to their nessst, though. I wasss curiousss._₰

At my urgings, she proceeded to describe what sounded like a town devoid of any modern Muggle contraptions; instead, it was populated with quaint features that sounded like open markets and pigeon carriers and wagons drawn by oxen and mule.

By now, I had my suspicions that the mountain I was in had something of a Reputation, exuberated by the superstitious sounding actions of an apparently medieval people in what sounded like a backwater village stuck in the time of the Dark Ages. Which begged the question of where exactly I had ended up in.

Running my hands slowly down my cloak, I glanced at the shadows around me and considered what to do.

(_Just like old times always running never knowing where you are I wonder if that little problem of yours is still here can you hear the monster yet? Can you hear it? Is it growling? Can you feel it in your veins, growling?_)

₰_I want to see it for myself,_₰ I abruptly stated. Little Flame stilled. ₰_The human nest, I mean._₰

It was for the best. I was done thinking through every little inconsistency or difference I encountered. No doubt I would be slammed with a hell of a lot more before long. For now, I had to just trust my instincts and let go. I would assimilate and adapt to things as they crossed my path; all I was doing now was stalling.

I had to accept _It_ – the whole crazy situation.

And move on.

(_No more playing around I see. Good. You weren't made to think anyways – you were made to _move_._)

₰_I think it's because I died,_₰ I silkily murmured to Little Flame, who tensed at my sudden bi-polar display. ₰_These emotions and feelings and thoughts. It's almost like I have forgotten who I was – who I became._₰

Silver laughter spilled from my lips.

"I liked who I was, in the end, I think" I continued softly, in English. "I've just forgotten who that was."

Rolling my shoulders to release a tension being reborn had left me with, I could sense the inaudible _snick-snick-snick_ of my mind slowly reordering itself. It would take a while – of that I was certain. I would have to reconstruct myself on the damaged frame of my previous life, trusting soul-deep instincts to guide me faithfully.

And who knew what had been lost during my death time.

And what had been gained.

.o.O.o.

After scanning the clearing to make sure nothing else had made it through from my previous world, I started down the mountain, angling away from the stream and following the movements of Little Flame.

The forest I was gliding through was a surprisingly cheerful one, especially with the addition of spring flowers poking through the rocky undergrowth and the pale green presence of things growing. Entirely too tall trees with gnarled bark and spine straight trunks loomed overhead, allowing only splashes of sunlight to trickle through to the shade dappled forest floor. A crisp chill to the air remained from whatever winter had inhabited the mountain these past months. My favorite parts, however, were the giant crags of rock that jutted up from the forest floor and broke through the skin of the mountain to form sun-drenched observation points that would be handy if I ever needed to see for a distance – or simply soak in the sun.

It was a completely uncontrollable urge. I blamed it entirely on my wicked, twisted new form, and most defiantly _not_ on the fact that it had always felt so damn good, even as a child.

(_Remember that time you were sleeping on the beach because it was sunny out and those Light wizards saw you and almost cut off your arm and you had to spend _days_ stumbling around bleeding because you couldn't find a source of energy to heal yourself -_ )

Shut up.

I swear I heard dark, amused sound coming from – somewhere.

Anyways, it was altogether rather peaceful – if a little spooky. I could easily see why some of the villagers down below at the base of the mountain would be hesitant in venturing too far in. From what I had already glimpsed, the forest was home to a large number of snakes and other predators, judging from the scents and faint tracks I had picked up on. Plus, there was just something about the mountain that set me slightly on edge, as if someone or something was breathing just behind my ear.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

However, it wasn't until about an hour in that I noticed that we had yet to cross paths with any of the creatures whose signs I had noticed, which was admittedly odd considering how populated the land appeared to be based on the numerous markings.

₰_Hey, Little Flame,_₰ I interrupted my guide, who had turned out to be somewhat of a chatterbox once I had assured her I wasn't dangerous. Well, to her at any rate. (She hadn't questioned my naming of her either – in fact, she seemed proud of it. Perhaps she had had no name before?)

Actually, that was another thing – why was she being so helpful? Snakes usually did offer their assistance whenever I came across them, but I had never really thought about it before. Mentally shaking my head, I put it in the back of my mind for later perusal.

₰_Where are all the other animals?_I continued. ₰_We should have come across some by now at least._₰

I didn't know why I had asked, but it did seem unusual. And I had learned – through blood and pain both psychological and physical – that anything unusual should be examined.

Especially when it came to the Wizarding World.

It was a moment before I realized that Little Flame had fallen silent. Then, she hesitantly glanced back at me, as if unsure of what to say.

I had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, I wouldn't be too pleased.

₰_They are gone,_₰ she finally replied. By this time, we had slowed to a crawl.

₰_Why._₰ My voice had gone a little flat. Distant, I noted. I felt a cold gather inside, and as if a barrier had come up to ward me against whatever Little Flame said next.

₰_It isss just – You sssee…Ssseveral hoursss ago, a feeling of death ssswept down the mountain. It was a cold wind, but it wasss not a wind, and I felt sssmall and ssscared. I imagine the other animalsss felt the sssame and fled._₰ A small shiver ran down her spine.

I blinked. That wasn't quite what I had expected. A small ball of tension in my shoulders loosened and the slightly hunched stance I had unknowingly slipped into reverted into a more natural position. I hoped Little Flame had not seen the predatory movements, or at least had not recognized them.

'I'm too pessimistic,' I decided. I just needed to relax and get a grip until all my memories had come back. After all, I couldn't expect the people and animals around here to react the same way they had back home.

Home. Was it really home in the end? I didn't know.

'My reputation had been built through time and actions,' I thought firmly. 'And with no one the wiser of what I was capable of here, there would be no reason to automatically fear and loathe me.'

At least, that's what I told myself as my sinisterly green tail gently switched back and forth like a hunting cat's, automatically balancing me, while the unsettling vivid feathers at the end picked up vibrations in the air and ground. The tip of a lethally poisonous barb poked out for a moment before being hidden once again.

I casually shoved my clawed hands under my ankle length cloak. My knife-tipped bare feet I ignored.

Nope, nothing to fear here.

Returning my attention to Little Flame, I asked, ₰_Why didn't you flee, then?_₰

She puffed herself up. ₰_I am a sssangria-ssscale viper,_₰ she hissed-boasted. _₰Our venom isss the most potent in all the Mountain, and bringsss death to many. Thusss, __I am not afraid of death, and ssso death is my greatest companion in life and sssurvival._₰ She paused.

₰_All sssnakes learn this lessson quickly, or death takesss them inssstead.₰ _

'Odd way to put it,' I thought.

₰_Really,_₰ I prodded, amused by the pint-sized snake's enormous ego and unnatural acceptance of death – unnatural, because after all, even the other snakes had fled. ₰_But if that's the case, then why am I not dead? After all, you did bite me and – from what I can tell – pumped me full of that 'most potent' venom._₰

I was merely teasing at this point – knowing full well why I had survived – but unable to resist ribbing what was quickly turning into one of my more amusing companions. Being on the run and all with a death warrant from both the Light and the Dark didn't exactly provide all that many opportunities to relax enough to mess around with someone.

Not that a Malfoy would ever do such a thing. But still.

However, just as I opened my mouth to continue giving Little Flame a hard time, a sudden _snap_ of a branch being cleanly stepped on rang through the forest some distance away, followed by the muffled baying of what sounded like a pack of dogs.

For a split second, I froze, before snatching up Little Flame and bolting towards one of the crags a little ways behind us that I had noticed earlier. I ignored the serpentine rantings coming from the pocket inside of my cloak.

Reaching the ridge, I began smoothly scaling the rough surface with rigid fingers tipped with steel sharp nails, accidently gouging out small chunks in my haste. Carefully holding my precious cloak out of the way, I swarmed over the edge not a half a minute later and stood tall, peering towards where I had heard the howls. My tail whipped under my cloak, brushing the ground and stirring up some debris.

At first, nothing moved. Then, a flash of _something_ passed between the trees some several ridges below me. It was a man on horseback.

Almost immediately afterwards, I saw several more riders on rather small, shaggy ponies charging through the undergrowth, chasing the tail end of a pack of drab-colored dogs and urging them on.

It's a hunt, I realized. So that must mean the intended prey…

There.

About two hundred yards in front of the riders and half that ahead of the hunting dogs was a lone boar, ripping through the underbrush in a mad sprint.

A numb chill slowly swept over me as my hands tensed and my knees bent slightly. The hypnotic thrum of blood through my veins caused my back to itch and my tail to still.

₰_What isss it? What isss going on? Put me down, you crazy sssnake-child._₰ Silence. Then, slowly, uncertainly –

₰_I feel cold. What are you doing?₰_

I didn't answer as steel shaded eyes glazed over and the coal black slits carved into them dilated unnaturally, leaching into the surrounding grey like roots – like mycelium. An unnervingly pointed tongue just slightly too long to be comfortable slipped out of my mouth and tasted the air before licking thin, pale lips in a very human gesture of hunger.

Except I wasn't looking at the boar. And I wasn't looking at the dogs or horses, either.

The excited whoops of the hunting party drifted to where I stood rigidly, dragging me to the very edge of the plunging ridge and insidiously entangling the wild craving desperately clawing at my core with the cyclic swan songs far below.

With eagle-sharp eyesight, I watched as a young man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing seductively as he urged his mount forward.

With a thrilling growl, my hunger abruptly broke free, and before I knew it, I was off the crag and racing towards the _grouppeoplepreyfoodfeast_ –

So huuunnngry.

It hadn't gone away. Not even death could end _It_ – the monster.

Me.

I still remember the open expressions of utter disgust that had spread across the faces of those who had witnessed my first completely uncontrolled breakdown – my first break with reality. The researchers who had actually stopped scribbling whatever shit they were recording about me long enough to stare – with a strange mix of distaste, uneasiness and fascination – at the suddenly bloody remains of the man who had been just a little too persistent in prodding me to run faster.

Pain curses were a highly motivational method of encouragement, as I had learned.

Of course, almost immediately afterwards I had been none-too-gently subdued, my meticulously recorded weaknesses turned against me. Afterwards, after weeks of solitary confinement away from all the other experiments, I again snapped. Except this time, there was no one around to alleviate that which had set me off the first time. There was no one to satisfy my soul-deep hunger.

I don't quite remember what happened, but I'm pretty sure I tore down a good chunk of the research lab and killed quite a few people – scientists and experiments alike. What I do know – and only because I was specifically told later on – was that all the tampering that had been done with my soul had resulted in something of a split in my essence.

I was me – Draco Malfoy in mind, body and emotion. But there was also not-me: my bound soul in the form of my patronus. And through an unexpected quirk of magical mess-up, not-me had no way of surviving without my direct assistance.

Because it wasn't really _me_ that was hungry as I sped through the forest – that is to say, my body wasn't the cause of the molten hunger that was currently searing my veins and burning my magical core pathways. No, it was my patronus that was hungry. My soul that – because it had been severed from my core and from my body, and because it had been neatly caged and reintegrated back into me – now needed outside sustenance to keep it from flickering out like a candle in a breeze.

In order for me to live, in order for my patronus to survive (did I need a soul to live? I don't want to know), it had to absorb external energy, as it was locked off from my own energy in order to fulfill the Dark Lord's goal of an independent, weaponized patronus.

(_I suppose he succeeded in that. But daaaamn when people saw me. Funniest fucking expressions I've ever seen. __**No**__ one knew what to make of a – _)

And since my soul couldn't act independent of my will, I had to be the medium in which to provide for it.

In other words, I had to kill and eat the souls of others.

(_Crazy Dark Lords and their shit ideas. Still, it __**is**__ nice to be so independent, for once._)

Crazy Dark Lords and their shit ideas.

…

And now I was officially hearing voices in my head. That hadn't even happened in my old world. Huh. Maybe death did mess me up more than I thought.

(_…_)

Waaaait a second. I stopped briefly before being inexorably pulled forward again as a horrible realization sank its claws into me.

'No way,' I thought a little wildly. No fucking way is that fucking possible.

Because the idea that the increasingly coherent voice in my head wasn't just a result of my mixed up memories – and thus would eventually go away – but was actually…was actually –

(_Finally got it, genius. Moron. Wait, am I real?_)

My patronus. The insane, bi-polar voice in my head was my honest-to-Merlin soul.

Fuck my life.

And then I burst through the trees and straight in front of the hunting party.

* * *

Wow, I meant to write a **lot** more plot into this chapter. I mean, I barely got through two main points I wanted to incorporate out of, like, fifteen or twenty. This is going to be a loooong story.

Anyways, please review! I would love to know your reactions and any predictions you have about what is going to happen next or in the future. Also, if there is anything you would love to see incorporated, let me know and I may decide to pick it up. I probably won't add anything hugely major, but subplots or cool skills or anything of that caliber could be worked in. I **do** have an extensive outline, so don't worry about this being one of those stories that simply follows what the reviewers want. Advice is all I ask for. ;)

Lastly, remember people – I only think one way: my way. Sometimes I just can't see what would seem obvious to you, aka plot holes, aka Help the Author!

Aka reviews welcomed.


	4. Quetzalcoatl

Author's Notes: Hungry Draco + 'helpless' hunting party = rated M.

Just a note on reviews: As I am unenlightened as to the proper fanfiction etiquette on reviews and if and how they should be answered, I am going to err on the side of polite caution and respond to all who have been totally awesome enough to provide input. That, and I am a sucker for reviews. So, if you have any questions or even comments that _sound_ like questions, I will respond to them in a PM. I won't give away any major spoilers, but I may share some minor ideas or even random thoughts I am currently entertaining at said time of review response. If you don't care for any feedback, simply tell me in your review, like "feedback not necessary" or some such. Otherwise, brace yourself for the rantings of an author plagued by too many plotlines and not enough time.

And now finally some real actions and answers! Sorta! Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Quetzalcoatl

"_Our life is made by the death of others." – Leonardo da Vinci._

.o.O.o.

_Waaaait a second. I stopped briefly before being inexorably pulled forward again as a horrible realization sank its claws into me._

'_No way,' I thought a little wildly. No fucking way is that fucking possible._

_Because the idea that the increasingly coherent voice in my head wasn't just a result of my mixed up memories – and thus would eventually go away – but was actually…was actually – _

_(Finally got it, genius. Moron. Wait, am I real?)_

_My patronus. The insane, bi-polar voice in my head was my honest-to-Merlin soul._

_Fuck my life._

_And then I burst through the trees and straight in front of the hunting party. _

.o.O.o.

For a single breath, the world around me froze in perfect detail, trapping in amber the five riders who had just erupted through the tree line across the small clearing I abruptly found myself entering. Slit pupils dilated dramatically in order to pick up the slightest of details and my entire body was suddenly flooded with sweet, spicy adrenaline and energy to help with my near-instantaneous analysis of the situation.

Only a split second later I had zeroed in on the rapid, hummingbird heartbeats of my targeted prey and the louder, rumbling heartbeats of the animals they rode. The smaller animal's excited, quick breaths mingled deliciously with the moist, laboring exhalations of the beasts below them. The waves of vibration surging though the ground and the heat that spiraled off the warm bodies further ensnared my razor focus.

With the sound of life cottoning my senses, the world gave a little lurch and abruptly restarted.

As I silently emerged into the clearing, I saw that the riders across from me (_so close so hungry_) were oblivious to my slight, shade-dappled presence, covered as it was in a dark cloak. Instead, they were focused exclusively on a space about fifty yards to my left, presumably where the end of the pack of hunting dogs had disappeared into, utterly unaware of the death their actions had attracted the attention of.

However, as I raced across the rippling sea of grass and towards the closest of my prey, some unlucky force – possibly the raw sixth sense that warned of impending danger – caused my target to suddenly glance my way. For a brief moment, we were connected as our eyes locked, and then some small, panicky part of me suddenly screamed and snatched at my body in a desperate bid to stop me, forcing my legs into an unnatural standstill. Or, at least attempted to.

The two dominant halves that composed me painfully ground against this newly awakened third component, and my suddenly uncoordinated legs – receiving several entirely different signals – stuttered, and with a muffled grunt I fell, skidding along the ground. Hissing, I – we – _**I**_ managed to turn the ignoble fall into a smooth roll that ended with both of us – with _**me**_ – in a shallow crouch, hands flexing in frustration and desire. A raging undercurrent of acidic loathing swept over my body and everything in front of me became hyper-defined and tinged in colors invisible to the human eye.

I wanted to feast, so badly. And I didn't mean just the patronus that was ripping at my mind and control to _chaserunmaultearconsume_ but also _me_. _I_ wanted to eat, needed to eat. I had already accepted that I wasn't human anymore, and that for what I was, the consumption of raw flesh wasn't just a part of my natural diet, but was a pleasure to indulge in.

And yet…

Snarling in anger, I swiped the intangible air with hands that wanted to bury themselves in delicious, carve-able flesh. My tail wiped side to side and urged me onward by scoring the ground with spikes that glistened oil-like with venom that would paralyze the muscle.

And yet!

Buried deep under layers of magic and flesh, something still soft and compassionate cried out – a little blond haired boy who was unused to seeing such horrors, much less being the perpetrator. Innocent, scared of the monster that now moved its body, and angry in the way that children are angry – with a self-righteous beating of weak fists and feet against a world that was granite and bone and eyes too high to see the struggle below.

That was what was holding me back – that utterly useless and contemptible piece of Draco Malfoy. A piece that the truly strong killed in pursuit of betterment and perfection, or that died under the reality of the universe it occupied. Many people never ended that sad fragment.

Many people are weak.

And yet.

As much as I wanted to snuff out the small, sad scrap of Draco Malfoy that was preventing me from slaughtering those engaged in their own hunt – a hunt that was now stumbling to a halt at the appearance of a strange, child-like apparition that had appeared ghost-like from the gloomy undergrowth of a forest believed to be haunted – I hesitated.

(_kill __**k**__ill Kill __**K**__ill KILL __**K**__ILL __**KILL**_)

"Shut up," I hissed at the voice echoing in my head. With a small start, I realized I didn't even know if it was the patronus's voice or mine that I was hushing; I was losing control.

I took a steady, calming breath, trying to soothe the fire that was searing my veins and distracting me from deciding what to do about child-Draco. I really should have just snuffed it out, but I was unsure as to the immediate consequences of such an action. Seeing the amount of power the near-nonentity seemed to possess over my motor functions was troubling to say the least. Any further unbalance of my psyche – like the eradication of the suddenly manifest child-Draco – could very well destroy my mind or unravel my sanity.

When the itching under my skin only got worse, and my hunger began to overshadow any thought other than how to disable my prey and consume it, I knew I had taken too long in deciding. With a firm, magically-backed mental command, I reached out and grabbed the slightly glowing, quivering figment of my more human emotions and with the gaze of a starving predator denied its meal, squeezed.

_Sleep_, I intoned, and with a shivering sigh child-Draco succumbed, sinking deeper into wherever it lurked and for the moment ceasing to interrupt the hunger that was now tugging at my magic like a playful kneazle. Magic it would use to paint the spring green clearing in shades of crimson if it got its way.

Dragging my mind back to the scene around me, I firmly seized hold of my jittery magic and sent it into my clothes in the form of an impervious charm in order to prevent any fluids from touching it. As my magic whirled into action, it slowly evened out from use; small strips of it that leaked out of my control harmless spiraled into the air around me, staining the wind a soft golden and grey hue and outlining my silhouette in an admittedly unnerving manner. Finally, I locked eyes once again onto the pack of humans in front of me.

Between my entrance into the clearing and the silencing of my softer side, I guessed only a half-minute to a minute had elapsed. In that time, the hunting party had rumbled to a halt and were in the process of soothing the suddenly panicky mountain ponies.

Wary glances and a sudden uptick in heartbeats easily keyed me in to the prickly nervousness that had abruptly descended upon the clearing. Several men appeared to be rather urgently questioning a single man dressed in some black fur and carrying a massive bow; the fact that I was unable to understand their language didn't overtly bother me, and in fact made it easier for me to distinguish them as animals to be slain for their sustenance.

"…niatnuom saw detnuah! Ikiad-nas, esaelp, ew, tonnac niamer ereh. Kool ta eht gniwolg tirips tsaeb erofeb su! Yhw esle dlouw hcus na noitirappa raeppa tub taht ew deregna eht niatnuom ni siht hsiloof tnuh? Ew dlouhs…"

"Ecnelis, Akatoh-nuk! Uoy wonk I od ton eveileb ni hcus efiw-pissog. I evah devil ereh ym elohw efil, dna reven evah I dessentiw yna lautca foorp fo larutanrepus seititne."

"Neht tahw si taht?" ¹

A strained silence fell over the clearing at the conclusion of the rapid-fire gibbering between the two men, and all eyes once again peered with varying degrees of fear and curiosity at me. No doubt some even believed that I was a lost child of sorts. Indeed, the next line of nonsense seemed a soft inquiry directed my way.

"Dlihc, era uoy tsol? Erehw era ruoy stnerap?" ²

It was too easy.

Freed from the soft sobbing of child-Draco and once more in-synch with the churning mass of ravenous hunger and raw, primordial instincts of my soul, I zeroed in on the human I had made eye contact with right before my shameful fall. Whatever it had witnessed before in me seemed to have changed, as its eyes widened and a slight sheen of sweat irrespective of the lather that already covered it from the chase broke out across its face. As it turned to frantically relay some kind of warning to the rest of its pack, I exploded from the crouch I had fallen into and raced across the ground, leaving several gouges in the grassy ground behind me from where I had pushed off.

"Kool tuo!" ³

Within seconds, I was right next to the rider that was farthest from the group, and thus the easiest to take down and induce discord and panic among the rest. Practically under the ridiculously tall pony (in my perspective), I needed only a split second to coil down low – mischievously brushing the trampled grass with loose fingers ready to stiffen in an instant – and then with a light leap that flared my cloak with deceiving gentleness, landed on the crude saddle and face-to-face with its occupant.

For a startled moment, we mingled breaths in a surprisingly intimate manner, before I reached out and with an almost languid jerk of the hand, carved a series of carmine smiles onto the stubble-speckled throat. A smooth gush of blood spilled over my frozen hand, and I could only stare, mesmerized, as the afternoon sun glinted wetly off the fluid, reflecting its sanguine light into its owner's eyes, as if to replace the slowly dimming glow deep inside.

"Yhw…?" ⁴

With a last, involuntary convulsion, the human slumped down and to the right, sliding out of the saddle to land with a soft thump onto the grass I had just seconds before teasingly caressed. With a gentle leap, I hopped off the saddle and swiveled to face my prize. Behind me, the traumatized pony – now lightly streaked in blood – bolted into the forest and vanished, its single scream the only sound that resonated in the now still clearing.

And then the world exploded.

Screams and what sounded like curses erupted from the downed animal's packmates, and a flurry of commanding tones were rapidly barked from one human in particular, the large bow-carrying man whose hands now trembled too much to only be from adrenaline.

"…dna tuhs pu dna netsil ot em! Teg ruoy stnuom rednu lortnoc dna ydaer ruoy snopaew. I t'nod tnaw enoyna ot ekam a elgnis evom litnu I yas os. Orihcik! Teg ruoy daeh tuo fo ruoy ssa dna tup na worra ot taht wob, on ton txen keew WON!" ⁵

With a thoughtful hiss, I glanced down at my own bloody hands to notice that they too were shaking slightly, only with excitement instead of terror. Spellbound, I lifted them to glazed eyes and a slightly parted mouth. A narrow tongue slipped out between just barely glimpsed fangs to wind around a single finger, its slightly coarse surface stripping all traces of red from the encased digit and sliding back behind pale lips.

A soft moan escaped me as I tasted the barest touch of red nectar. A primordial hot fire tinged in the ice of a predator's focus throbbed two-toned behind my eyes, my soul's base desires entwined among my own, more refined, cunning.

Lazy, half-lidded eyes tracked the slurred movements of the figures across from me. They were no threat. Not with my magic, not with my physical prowess, not with my enhanced senses, and most certainly not with my wildly writhing patronus, desperate for its own meal and quite willing to attempt to take me over to satisfy its cravings. Which wouldn't be the best situation as I was firmly in control at the moment and just as delirious to sate my own hunger. A face-down at this stage would harm both us in the struggle.

Stepping over to the carelessly sprawled figure of the human I had single-handily killed (_A joke! Hilarious. Now quit fucking around and __**feed me**_) I causally waved my hand and with an extra wad of magic to make up for the mycelium difference, vanished most of its clothes.

"…ho imak evas su…" ⁶

The stunned silence of the humans caused me to glance back at them in muffled curiosity – only the knowledge of what was coming allowing even that miniscule blip of emotion through.

(_Soonsoonsoon_)

Taking in their almost comical open mouths and dumbfounded expressions, I suddenly realized that I, Draco Malfoy, had just performed magic in front of what were clearly Muggles and thus had just broken the Statue of Wizarding Secrecy along with the International Silence of Magic Accords for the very first time.

Somehow, I didn't really care.

Besides ending up in a world that in all likelihood had never even _heard_ of magic before – coupled with the fact that I really, truly didn't care at this point in time because of my hunger – there was the almost certain fact that this particular bunch of humans would never leave the mountain to tell tale of any impossible feats they had witnessed. And besides, I was pretty sure that the coming spectacle they were about to witness would stick out more clearly in their minds than any miserly trick at vanishing some clothes.

Turning back to my meal at hand, I shed my cloak and the shirt under it, baring my back and its distinctive markings to the hunters behind me. Closing my eyes and cracking my neck with a careless roll of my head, I stiffened my spine and _focused_.

Delving past layers of natural resistance and dismantling magical barriers riddled with metaphysical cracks erected by both my loving handlers and – later – myself, I plunged into my core.

Just from what I had glimpsed, I could tell that the barricades were on the brink of disintegrating due to the raging power my patronus was exerting on them in its mad desire to break free. While creating new barriers would have been possible after the resultant meltdown and lack of control and sanity, it would still have taxed my reserves and taken time, something I was not eager to experience feeling the slightest bit vulnerable as I was in this new world.

Reaching my core, I braced myself both physically and mentally before coaxing a sliver of my magic into a sinuous cord and twining it snake-like around the final obstacle. With a slight twist, I snapped the fragile yet heavily protected Soul String that was the only true restraint locking down my soul and preventing it from flooding my body and taking over.

A glowing, iridescent torrent of energy erupted from its prison, howling in triumph and mindless hunger.

Gritting my teeth, I forcibly directed the almost overwhelming power into the scribed planes of my back and away from the rest of my abruptly fragile body. Nonetheless, I couldn't contain it all and a small portion escaped my grip and leeched into my limbs, kindling a supernatural glow under my skin and behind my eyes. It was painful, having to contrast the pure essence of life everlasting against the flesh and bone of mortality. Of course, it was a false illusion, as death claimed all in the end – even the seemingly immortal soul.

Except in my case, in which it wasn't death that consumed the souls of others, but me and mine.

I sometimes wondered how death felt about that, and if it was ever upset at what seemed to me the unnatural interruption of the cycle of life itself. Seeing as I had never encountered death in my travels, nor heard of any but the probably fictional Brothers Three meeting him, I wasn't too concerned and generally put it out of my mind. After all, the probability of death being able to manifest itself in this new dimension was simply ludicrous.

"Ti SI a tirips…" ⁷

As the gentle breeze caressed my bared back, I knew the stylized runes and designs permanently drawn there would be shifting under the presence of my patronus. Looping curves and jagged lines written in a black darker than ink – bisected by the emerald length of scales armoring my spine – spanned from just above the hemline of my pants to the tops of my shoulders, gaining complexity the higher they went until just before the crest of my spine, where simplicity once again flourished smoothly. These irremovable tattoo-like patterns were a conglomeration of ritual and physical construction by the top magical minds – a true masterpiece of what magic was capable of.

The binding of a wizard's soul to his own body! It rivaled the rumors of Dark Arts capable of splitting the soul into fragments to achieve immortality. Soul magic: the most difficult of all Arts to practice both for its lethal nature and the strict penalties imposed on its use. This is what my back signified to the magical researchers who worked on me.

The result was what signified me to the rest of the world.

With the influx of my patronus tracing the lines of my back in eye-searing, luminous patterns, the massive, slightly animalistic looking tattoo shuddered before – with an inaudible hiss – it lifted from its two-dimensional prison and rapidly expanded outward.

In a display of nauseating sequences, the lines were twisted and stretched to fill in and define the spirit-like form that was unfurling in a reaching, grasping explosion of contained white light. A tinge of subdued color began to suffuse the long, serpentine body, while a pair of feathery, translucent wings were quickly unsheathed at its sides, their ruffled tips stretching the length of the clearing and briefly dominating the space above.

The feathered serpent now towered above the stunned, matchstick-like figures below it in a column of insubstantial smooth muscle and flaring wings, straining towards the sky for a brief moment before writhing in frustration and dropping back down in a rustle of intangible scales and feathers, its ghostly yellow eyes – slit-pupiled like its host's – inexorably zeroing in on the dead body crumpled in front of its friend, twin, host and prison. Its slave and master. Its most hated and most beloved. Its Draco.

For a moment, even I was overwhelmed at the spirit-like beauty arrogantly poised above and around me, its coils loosely looped around my slight figure and its wings cocked in an aggressively hostile yet protective manner.

My patronus quetzalcoatl, manifested and resplendent.

Captivated, I traced the hybridized dragon- and snake-like head fringed by long, stiff, poisonously hued feathers – feathers that matched my own – with starving eyes, following their ruffled progress along the graceful curve of its spine and hungrily drinking in the perfect glow that suffused its length and cast a light across the clearing, throwing the blades of grass into stark relief and endowing everything with a razor edge. I watched as the long, narrow, bird-like wings gently fanned the air, stirring a wind that no physical sensation could detect, but one that unnervingly brushed against the spiritual energy of those nearby with a chilling touch not unlike the unknowable sensation of one's exposed soul being breathed on.

Dazed, I ended my examination when the ghostly green body of my patronus looped out of sight behind my back, where I knew the thickly feathered tail would still be chained to my flesh as a precautionary measure.

While I could unleash this last link between my soul and my physical body, I knew in doing so that I would undergo a strenuous and dangerous mental split, forcing me to divide my consciousness between my physical vessel and that of my patronus in the most tenuous of connections. I would be master to neither, only able to nudge the raw instincts of my physical body in a semblance of control and guide the void of hunger above with the barest of commands.

Severing it was both debilitating in all but the most overwhelming of situations and highly stressful on my mental state. All in all, it was a safety line not meant to be broken, and a guarantee that my patronus wouldn't go rouge or somehow get injured enough to flee in pain, leaving me truly soulless.

I didn't know what would happen if that occurred. I didn't _want_ to know.

{_Finally. What are you, a moron? Took you long enough._}

Startled out of my darker musings, I snapped my gaze back to the horse-sized head of the quetzalcoatl above me.

When I had first summoned my patronus, back when it was just a simple spell designed to ward off Dementor's, I had been exuberant at the form it had taken. After all, everyone knew that it was the mark of an unusually strong wizard or witch to have a magical creature as one's patronus, and added to the fact that mine had been part serpent, I had felt positive my ex-Master would be pleased. Maybe even pleased enough to tutor me himself in War Magic.

It was all I ever wanted, back then – recognition and respect. From my father, my teachers. From my peers, inferiors and superiors. Nothing outlandish. Just a young boy's wish to be known by those older and more famous. A desire that most likely had its roots in the childish rivalry between a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy and a Gryffindor named Harry Potter.

Those wishes had crumbled in the face of the Dark Lord's 'pleasure' at my patronus. It was right after that that I was chucked into wizarding hell and the tender, nonexistent mercies of its highest practitioners and their ceaseless quest to break the boundaries of known magic.

I never wanted to please another in my life. Now, all I wanted was to survive, and screw those who thought themselves better than me. If they were, I would be dead and they would be alive.

So far, I wasn't dead.

Well, not really, anyways. Details, details.

With a quick mental shake, I focused once more on the (probably horrifying if viewed from the outside) events taking place around me.

However, just as I was about to witness the consumption of a soul, Little Flame decided to make her own appearance, shooting out of the inner pocket I had stuffed her in and winding herself aggressively around my neck. Just as she opened her mouth to unleash snake-hell on my rough handling of her, she caught sight of my patronus. Tracing its massive shape to my back, she paused.

₰…holy sssnake-ssshit…₰

Then,

₰Can I touch it?₰

* * *

**Translations:**** (it is just English, but written backwards, ex. Hello = olleH)**

**¹** "…mountain was haunted! Daiki-san, please, we cannot remain here. Look at the glowing spirit beast before us! Why else would such an apparition appear but that we angered the mountain in this foolish hunt? We should…"

"Silence, Hotaka-kun! You know I do not believe in such wife-gossip. I have lived here my whole life, and never have I witnessed any actual proof of supernatural entities."

"Then what is that?"

**²** "Child, are you lost? Where are your parents?"

**³** "Look out!"

**⁴** "Why…?"

**⁵** "…and shut up and listen to me! Get your mounts under control and ready your weapons. I don't want anyone to make a single move until I say so. Kichiro! Get your head out of your ass and put an arrow to that bow – no not next week NOW!"

**⁶** "…oh kami save us…"

**⁷** "It IS a spirit…"

Author's Notes: Wow. Can I just say that I am so sorry for the delay and that hopefully you all will forgive me? *Drops to the floor in a faint*

Suffice to know that I have been absolutely swamped, and that I just barely squeezed this chapter out. I had most of it written about a week earlier, but I just needed to edit it so I didn't embarrass myself too badly…

And let me just tell you – typing backwards? SLOW. And probably hard to read for those who took the time to do so. (Many apologies if English isn't your first language…)

Anyways, please let me know what you thought, and yes, I know the plot is molasses right now. I mean, there hasn't even been any ninja yet, for kami's sake! But there will be, there will be…

Reviews welcomed.

.

P.S. Google image quetzalcoatl if you want some reference as to what Draco's patronus looks like.

Fun fact: The cover for this story is actually a quetzalcoatl as well. (Such foreshadowing...)


	5. Excuses of Rudeness

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait! Unfortunately, I will be gone pretty much the entire summer; I got my first job as a camp counselor (aka money) at this amazing camp that pretty much has it all – giant swing, ranch, river hikes, archery, weaving, songs, hikes, great food, an astronomy tower, etc. The only downside is that electronics are strictly banned by one and all, so that means probably not a lot of updates. (if any…)

Oh, and for any fannibals out there, I couldn't help but incorporate a little Dr. Lector into Draco in this chapter.

Because I love it.

I love it _all_.

Chapter 5: Excuses of Rudeness

"_Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." – Stephen King_

.o.O.o.

_However, just as I was about to witness the consumption of a soul, Little Flame decided to make her own appearance, shooting out of the inner pocket I had stuffed her in and winding herself aggressively around my neck. Just as she opened her mouth to unleash snake-hell on my rough handling of her, she caught sight of my patronus. Tracing its massive shape to my back, she paused._

₰…_holy sssnake-ssshit…₰_

_Then,_

₰_Can I touch it?₰_

.o.O.o.

Smooth scales tightened around neck, tangling in my feathers.

₰No, Flamelet. Besides making you feel cold if you passed through it, my patronus does not affect the physical in any way. Only spirit energy could mark it. ₰

A disappointed hiss was my only response, before the lithe snake slipped free of my neck and disappeared into the grass. Sibilant mutterings of 'freakisssh ssspeed' and 'sssnakes aren't _sssupposssed_ to get naussseousss' reassured me that the amusing reptile was merely finding a shady spot to still her stomach and watch the proceedings.

"I really should finish this…" I muttered under my breath, turning to face the quetzalcoatl that loomed above me.

The mouth of the quetzalcoatl had opened, its serrated fangs dripping intangible poison. It would leave no physical mark behind if it touched the body, but would instead paralyze the soul, leaving the unfortunate victim to resemble someone in a coma – functional body but no higher brain activity. It would wear off eventually unlike a normal coma which could be permanent, but was actually much more traumatic as it would leave them conscious to everything around them, up to and including the consumption of their soul.

In the case of the dead man before me, the quetzalcoatl's intended meal had already died, taking the conscious mind with it to wherever those things went, and leaving behind what I had dubbed a '_starsoul_' – or a soul that's physical vessel had died. A soul that was attached to a living human was correspondently called a '_sunsoul_'. Those could not be eaten.

Through the wonderful power of eavesdropping, I had sneakily overheard (not really, they just talked in front of me completely uncaring of what I picked up) from the researchers studying me that a _starsoul_ exponentially decayed or unraveled after its living host had died, so that immediately after death it would diminish the fastest and only after it had almost disappeared would its rate of unraveling slow down. Because of this, places where many humans had died – such as locations where battles had taken place – would be infested with the barest slivers of souls still hanging on long after the battle's conclusion. Eventually, even these would disappear, but that could take thousands of years, supposedly.

Interestingly enough, cemeteries were one of the _least_ soul prolific places, as if you thought about it, not many people actually died in a cemetery. An interesting fact that never ceased to amuse.

Thus, it was a _starsoul_ that my patronus would now feast upon.

Lowering its massive, ridged head, split by a cavernous mouth easily wide enough to swallow a man whole, the quetzalcoatl simply lined itself up with the spread-eagle body of the human whose throat I had mutilated and, with spirit-like action, passed through the body mouth-first.

As the hazy outline of the human disappeared behind the first row of fangs, a silent scream seemed to issue from the lifeless body – a pained pulse of vibration that stained the clearing in anguish and terror, and cut off all sound but its own, breathy wail.

For a second, even I was disgusted at the actions I was existentially committing, before a wave of relief and fierce satisfaction rolled over me, pulsing from my back to wrap me in a cocoon of soul-deep bliss and fulfillment. My eyelids fluttered almost closed and head lolled back as a soft sigh escaped my lips.

I shivered as the cooling taste of mint coated my tongue.

While I knew it was temporary, a reward in essence from my grateful patronus, it was nevertheless addicting and soothing enough on its own to wash away my feeble doubts and replace them with the solid convictions that what I was doing was not only natural for me, but was absolutely necessary to my continued sanity and survival. A feeding here and there was much less destructive than the all-out carnage that would follow an uncontrolled meltdown.

A split second later, my patronus had risen again, once more dominating the landscape but this time radiating fierce pleasure as opposed to desperation. A daub more of color seemed to infuse the creature after its feeding, and lent a sense of solidarity to its ethereality.

So engrossed was I that it wasn't until a sharp whistle split the air that I realized I had completely forgotten about the rest of the hunting party lined up a little ways off. I was also instantly confused when I was unable to place the sound with anything I was familiar with.

Startled, I attempted to twist my body out of the way of whatever was speeding my way. However, my new stature betrayed me and skewed my perceptive, bewildering my keen hearing and making it seem that the arrow was aimed at my lower torso.

Instead, it slammed into my upper chest, just missing my lungs but lodging painfully under my collarbone as it pierced skin and cloak.

I was jerked back a step from the force and my eyes snapped down to encounter a smooth length of wood sticking out of my body. An arrow?

For a second, I wanted to smack myself in frustration. I had seen the bows the riders were carrying, but had dismissed them as primitive and unable to harm me. I touched the roughly feathered end lightly, a slight grimace crossing my face before I pulled back. A small welling of bright red blood oozed slowly from the puncture and stained a vivid crimson trail down my plain black shirt, but otherwise the arrow was preventing most of it from escaping. I could remove it later.

For now, I swung my head up and narrowed my eyes at the determined group of meal tickets in front of me. As much as I applauded their will to live, it simply didn't compare to my own will to eat. Glancing down at the now soulless and mindless feast resting appetizingly at my feet, I forced myself to turn away.

Without the pulsing need of my soul driving me to wildness, I was calmer. These humans would die, but I would be more methodical in my approach. No need to dash blindly into a hail of arrows, after all. Plus, with the knowledge that I would soon be sated, I was more willing to indulge in the sheer contentment of being alive and _free_ from all the chaos that had once smothered my life and deadened my mind into that of an animal's, forced to treat every encounter as a potentially lethal concurrence.

"…tohs ti oot noos!" **¹**

The riders were in a mini panic, seeing that I had failed to succumb to or really even be affected by their meager attack. While it looked as if they hadn't meant to loose the single arrow that was now sticking out of me, two others still had metal-tipped arrows tightly aimed at where I stood, obviously ready and prepared to try to kill me. Another three gripped thick, sturdy spear-like weapons, bisected with spikes a little below the bladed tips. '_Boar spears,_' I realized. Makes sense.

The leader himself carried a fairly impressive sword along with his boar-spear, his white-knuckled grip on it making the entire length tremble. Altogether, seven men faced me.

Pitiful.

Reaching up, I snapped off the wooden shaft near the wound's entrance and casually tossed it aside, my eyes never leaving the tightly wound group. Their own, emotion-riddled eyes followed the broken weapons dismissive flight, as if it was a sign from above that their efforts were wasted.

It was all the distraction I needed to push off from the ground and cross most of the distance before another move was made against me. With a strangled yelp, one of the more vigilant archers managed to swing his bow into position and awkwardly loose another arrow, one which I avoided with child's ease with a slight skip to the left. Immediately, I dismissed the now weaponless archer and instead veered off to hone in on the much more dangerously armed archer.

At this point in time, my main targets were the archers; their long-distance capabilities would be annoying to watch out for if I got distracted. Sadly for the bowmen, this meant that they would die first.

I hummed impassively as I appeared next to the dun-colored mount of the only archer left with an arrow loaded, and before he could do more than rear back in surprise at my sudden appearance, I lightly scored the flank of the beast with gentle nails. An explosive snort from the creature at my harmless yet clearly predatory action was followed by an impressively agile twist of the huge body, dumping the rider off.

Fast as Devil's Snare, I lightly leaped over the downed man and then past him, dragging the tip of my barbed tail along his torso as I did so. A shallow gash that reflected the sunlight oddly and turned the red blood welling up a darker hue was the only mark left behind. It would be enough. As I pushed off into my next lunge, I knew I couldn't linger, and sure enough both archers that had already shot at me had new arrows cocked in position.

A whistle once again split the air, and with a languid dodge to the side I left the sound's source buried in the ground. Spinning forward, I once again raced on silent steps across the clearing.

This time however, the spear carriers were in on the game, and two had positioned themselves in front of the archers to shield them from my attack. However, one boar spearman had failed to grasp his fellows more intelligent actions, and was languishing on the outskirts in shock.

With a soft patter of steps, I pushed off against a half-submerged boulder sticking out of the ground and changed direction, startling the core group and absolutely terrifying the loner who had suddenly realized his predicament.

Instead of trying to face me down however, the man roughly yanked his chocolate-hued mountain pony around and attempted to flee. I frowned at the cruel move on the man's part, and mentally chided him in my head. How _rude_.

The poor animal was a faithful beast to have stood so bravely against my unleashed presence, and that the human had rewarded such behavior with pain was crude and distasteful. I growled lowly. This was why hunting humans never really bothered me so much – in the end, they always betrayed the ones most loyal to them.

I ignored the little voice in my head that suddenly piped up. _'Excuses…'._ Instead, I focused on my ever-ready hunger.

With perhaps a little more force than necessary, I smoothly launched myself from the ground to slam into the hunched figure and drag him to the ground, becoming entangled momentarily in his overlarge clothing before breaking free and sinking my fingers into his arms. My feet rested firmly on his protruding belly, the sharp talons that graced the end cutting small holes with their grip into his sturdy hide-bound tunic.

Looking down, I encountered rolling white eyes begging me with desperation. My own cool, dispassionate slit-eyed stare returned the contact, but in my gaze only a predator peered back. A convulsive shudder ran through the human's length when I abruptly dug in my toes. I couldn't help the fanged grin that took over my face the split second before I _ripped_ downwards with my legs and messily disemboweled my latest kill.

I couldn't _stand_ the rude.

A wheeze of pain brushed my face before I sprung off him and darted to my next target. Honestly, it was too easy, this killing of men.

Growing more confident, I discarded my simple plan of careful elimination in exchange for simply launching into a default massacre. There was no threat now that I was paying the slightest bit of attention.

The next few minutes were a blur of liquid crimson and the delicious sounds of stilling hearts. The remaining two archers were ripped apart when I appeared between them, claws flashing wetly and tail-feathers stained red.

The next moment I was methodically dismantling the spearmen near me, their panicked struggles to align the tips of their blades with my fast-moving form an exercise in futility. As their bodies fell, my hunger grew.

Finally, I appeared before the leader in a flash of movement. His wide, terrified eyes were frozen on the still bodies that were scattered across the once-peaceful meadow. Slowly, they started to swing towards my direction.

He never made it.

With another blur of movement, my hand disappeared neatly into the broad canvas of cloth-covered flesh before me, sinking up to my wrist and easily breaking through the hard, curved bones that shielded the heart. With a delicate twist, I scored the rapidly pumping life-center under my hand with slightly trembling claws, before withdrawing and allowing the now dead weight to slip off the stock-still pony beneath me, whose saddle I had perched upon.

Smoothly hopping down, I turned to face the feast that lay before me. My patronus – perhaps I should name it? – was already focused on devouring the _starsouls_ that clung to the corpses, causing my throat and tongue to feel as if I had been nibbling on a mint plant. The connection between us was growing thin and faded, however, so with a silent command I flexed the bond and proceeded to begin drawing it back into my body with a firm yet cautious pull.

I still wasn't entirely comfortable with it being free, and even after all the time I had to practice commanding it in the wilds of Britain, I was hesitant to push it. Even to me, it was practically a mystery still, and no doubt there were unknown and unintended consequences every time I messed with it. The voice in my head, after all, had never been there prior to my, well…death.

I didn't know what it meant. What it would mean for the future. Was I merging back with my soul? Or was it the opposite – were we splitting apart even further?

The fact that it had fallen silent again after consuming the souls could be comforting – or it could be troubling. Did the voice only act up when it was hungry (or more hungry than usual, as it was always hungry)? Or would it only increase in volume no matter its state of starvation?

And, really, should I name it? That would imply a greater separation between us, but is that a good thing or a bad thing? And what was good and bad for me, anyways?

As I pondered these questions, I slowly walked over to the nearest body – the leader's. Bending down, I casually cut a slit down the middle of the chest, peeling back both the clothes the corpse was wearing along with the skin underneath it.

Then, with a practiced action, I began to efficiently divide the body into tasty bits and not-so-tasty bits, being sure to make my movements smooth and unhurried.

Though I was starving still – and the sweet, coppery scent of blood was maddening to my mind – I forced myself to behave with grace and manners. There was no reason to act like an animal when dining – I was a Malfoy, after all (maybe), and had been raised with the highest degree of civility and politeness.

It was all good and all to surrender to my more primal side in battle, but even then I had acted with the grace demanded of a pureblood. To anyone else, it might have looked a little deranged and bloodthirsty (and maybe it _was_, just a little, teeny, tiny bit), but underlying it all was the groomed heir of one of the greatest family lines of Wizarding Britain.

And _that_ meant a certain amount of respect for the aesthetics.

Thus, after having civilly separated the body into its two most important components – the good tasting and the bad tasting – I finally begin to eat.

Delicately spearing the purple-red liver on my claws, I brought it – trembling slightly – to my mouth, and bit down. Slightly serrated fangs – a pale mimic of the ones that graced the quetzalcoatl – easily sheared through the tough meat, while a sharkskin textured tongue curled around the still warm organ and started shredding the outer layer while moving it around.

Delicious.

Despite my control, I couldn't help but devour the bleeding meal in front of me with a hint of monster peeking through my actions, never mind that the entire performance was already one whose acts were composed by a creature of shadow and 'sin'.

Rapidly, I polished off the first carcass. Even then, I was still hungry. I didn't know why or even how my body could absorb such large amounts of flesh – especially as a child now – but it did.

I had experimented a little bit during my freedom, and had found that I could consume a wide variety of amount depending on the circumstance. If, for instance, I had been badly injured, I could quite easily devour half a dozen adult humans before feeling satisfied.

I had also determined that in order to satiate my hunger sufficiently, I was required to consume a steady person-a-week diet. My patronus was even hardier, able to last a month with only a single, recently created _starsoul_. However, I was beginning to suspect that this span of time was slowly decreasing, as during my last few months in Britain before my death there had been a subtle pressure to appease my soul's distant, growing hunger.

Of course, I was never specifically _designed_ to eat people, when the concept of creating a weapon-ized patronus was first conceived. However, fiddling with the unknown in matters of the grotesque and beautiful was sure to backfire in some way – it was practically common sense. You couldn't prepare for the impossible, after all.

At first, my handlers had followed the suggestions of the magical researchers by providing me with strongly magical items like unicorn horns and ancient Egyptian Wardstones – a suggestion made when they had deduced that due to the severance of my soul, I had begun to lack some crucial part of my daily sustenance.

One possible origin of this problem was my core; it had been 'scrambled' due to my transition, and though it was still providing me with a steady – if diminished – supply of energy, the researchers concluded that the sudden decrease was causing some of my symptoms of pain.

Because it was pain. Lots and lots of it. A tearing, burning, clawing pain that screamed that _something_ was wrong.

But there was so much that was wrong.

And thus began my life as a vampire of magical objects, which pretty much consisted of me tediously and painfully drawing out the latent or imbued magic locked in the items given to me and converting it to match my own so that it did not burn.

I am sure there could have been easier ways of 'feeding', but there was a war going on, and I was not the only subject of interest to the Dark Lord.

At first it worked, but soon it was simply too slow, too little, and too expensive.

That's when I took the next step on my own and brought my hunger directly to the largest, juiciest source of magic available – wizards. Most witches and wizards oozed magic constantly, and one day – another day of pain and humiliation at my pain – I snapped and tore into that delectable source.

The aftermath was worth it, because for the first time in months, I was full.

Needless to say, eventually my method of magic-gathering was approved by an impatient Dark Lord and became the norm. The only stipulation was that my only prey was the enemy.

There's just something about starving that makes anyone a little less human.

My problem now, though, was the distinct lack of magic in the world – and the people – around me. Even Muggles had some dregs, if I ever needed to stoop that low. Without a source of magic to soothe the pain that came from my mangled core, I would be subject once again to days of agony and nights of desperate misery.

I needed a source of energy in this new world, and I needed it soon, be it magic or something else that would satisfy.

Thus, the hunter party mountain feast.

Obviously magic-less as witches and wizards were, but possibly containing some small measure of energy, they were my first experiment. And to my relief and grim joy, they had been a success. While eating the leader, I had detected a trickle of something that felt vaguely similar to magic enter my body and slightly ease my hunger. I didn't know what it was, per say, but I suspected that it had something to do with the strange way my magic had been behaving in this magic-less world.

I stood up and begin trotting over to my next meal. Behind me, my withdrawing patronus swooped down one last time to snag the _starsoul_ of the mostly eaten leader, sending a last tingle of mint to flare through my senses before retreating completely back into its runic confines tattooed on my back. Little Flame, meanwhile, seemed to have conquered her momentary dizziness and was busily inspecting the corpses that littered the ground with avid curiosity. Little spurts of hisses could be heard drifting from where she slithered along, exclaiming over the 'pretty rainbow poissson' that sometimes marred the flesh.

It was as I was bending down over one of the archers that I heard a sudden, muffled gasp at the far edge of the clearing. Startled, I snapped my head up, only to be surprised when I locked onto the form of a young human male partly hidden behind a tree and carrying what appeared to be a much too large sack of supplies.

Wide, hazel eyes under a mop of sandy brown hair gazed with horror and numbness over the macabre sight before him. With a soft thump, the sack fell from nerveless hands, spilling water canteens and wrapped pieces of what smelled to be cheese and bread over the ground.

Unblinking orbs finally drifted my way, where I crouched – frozen in an odd hesitation – and zeroed in on the patterns of blood that liberally decorated my form. For a split second, we were locked into place, each reading the other on a razor's edge of unknown action.

With startling quickness, the child whipped around and dashed into the forest. For another glacial second, I stayed still, before with a bound I covered the length of the meadow and gave chase.

Within seconds, I caught sight of my target, and – with only a momentary pause – smoothly launched myself towards and above the frantic figure, landing deftly in front of the kid. His panicked eyes widened further and he desperately tried to backpedal, but it was far too late.

With calculating slit-pupils, I sprang forward with cobra swiftness and knocked my victim onto its back, my clawed hands wrapped securely around the wrists and pinning them to the forest floor on either side on the head. I pressed the rest of the frantically writhing body firmly down with my own slight weight before leaning forward and once again locking gazes.

"Esaelp, esaelp t'nod…_esaelp_-" **²**

With an annoyed little huff, I knew that what I was about to do was right. It was far too irritating, listening to this unintelligible blather. Much better to eliminate the source of the verbal nonsense once and for all.

Tear-edged hazel met black-slit grey.

"_Legilimens."_

* * *

Thought I was going to have Draco kill the kid, didn't ya? DIDN'T YA?

Anyways, sorry this is so late! There really are no excuses… I actually had most of this written for some time. However, I needed to smooth out a few wrinkles in the plot and decide on a few concrete facts.

If you are a little confused by how the hunger works, here is an analogy:

First imagine a flowering plant growing in a plot of soil. The plant needs water, nutrients in the soil, and sun to survive. The plant is Draco's own life. The flowers on it are his magic. The water for the plant is obtained by outside sources of magic or some other form of energy (chakra). The minerals and nutrients are the physical human bodies Draco consumes. The sunlight is Draco's patronus (soul), and if his patronus is not fed with other souls it will fade and threaten Draco-plant. THE OUTSIDE SOURCES OF ENERGY DO NOT BECOME DRACO'S OWN MAGIC. THEY MERELY FUEL THE PRODUCTION OF DRACO'S UNIQUE MAGIC. After all, charka is not magic, but it can be USED to create magic, in part.

Phew! Sorry about how confusing that is, and for not somehow integrating it into the story. Maybe one day, I'll do a re-write when I get better at all this, but for now, hopefully this will satisfy.

And don't worry, arrogant!Draco with his flippant killing of simple huntsmen will indeed get a rude awakening when he finally encounters ninja. He _does_ have unique advantages when going against them, but he also has glaring weaknesses that he has never had to deal with before when faced with the darker arts of the shinobi world.

**Translations:**

**¹** "…shot it too soon!"

**²** "Please, please don't…_please_-"

And as always:

Reviews welcome.


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